It was a long ride back across the playa to HQ. Stingray was there, and I said hi to Marker. When I checked in, they put me down as a dirt ranger that could be called on in case of a Green Dot situation. When assignments came up, Marker and I got sent out to the Man for perimeter duty. We got out there just before sunrise. We met up with Mr. Po and Sharkbite, who gifted me a beautiful glass dish. The trash fence was already up around the inner perimeter, and our job was to keep everybody out. A guy came up, upset that the Man was shut down, and said, "Could I come back this afternoon?" No, I said, it would still be closed. (I almost told him to come back the next day-- nobody would stop him then.) Sharkbite and I met a delightful girl called Anarchy, who stood close to me to get out of the chilly breeze. She wasn't exactly dressed for the early morning. Anarchy said she went to the Critical Tits parade, but it was held "on the far side of the moon," pointing out into deep playa. She said she was camped at the post office-- not the main one, the other one. She gave me a very nice kiss on the cheek when she left. I never saw her again.

I saw a woman in a colorful coat inside the perimeter taking photographs. Nobody was supposed to be inside the perimeter. With all the fencing around, I didn't know how she got in. I went up and asked, "May I help you?" which she found amusing. It turned out to be Crimson Rose, the Managing Art Director of Burning Man! I hoped my humiliation didn't show much. We talked about cameras for a couple of minutes. She had wondered why someone would be out there wearing a hard hat. (It was Ranger Marker.) At 8 AM, the pyrotechnic crew arrived, and everyone, Rangers included, had to get out.

A girl on a fuzzy blue tricycle came by talking about cameras. It turned out she fixed cameras for a living. I showed her what was weong with my digital camera, and her advice was "get another camera." Getting it fixed would cost as much as the camera, she said. That was disappointing to hear. I really didn't like the idea of buying another camera.  I spoke to Coffin, one of the pyrotechs. He said everything was on schedulefor the burn that night-- loading the combustibles, accelerants and explosives in the structure, but then he squinted against the white-out sandstorm conditions and said, "I hope people will be able to see it!"  Ranger Wish was in charge of us all out at "the Stick." She gave us the chance to be rotated back into patrolling the city, but Marker and I decided to stay.

I trudged back to HQ, clocked out of my shift, and went to the commissary for lunch: baked potatoes. I felt pretty baked myself by that point. We met Ranger Hogwallow, a football player from Chicago. Back at HOTD, I took a short nap in my tent, but it was just too hot in there. The wind just kept getting worse. I got a beer and sat in the bar catching up on my writing. The bar was full of folks listening to live music. Claudia was onstage, singing an original song about Mark's bacon, and Spoon falling onto the playa. A girl named Melanie got up to sing, and she was amazing, singing deep, soulful blues.

As it got dark, the idea of stomping all the way out to the dusty playa to watch the burn became less and less appealing. I'd seen the Man burn up close before, and besides, the rash on my leg was really hurting me. Moving was agony. Then, I realized I could see the Man off in the distance from the bar. The prospect of watching the show from the comfort of camp became overwhelming. So, I settled back on a barstool and relaxed. Night fell, and the streets began to empty out. Traffic on the streets died down considerably. There were only three or so of us in the bar. Five blocks back from the Esplanade we could still hear the drums, the sounds of thousands of people out in the darkness.